


Flying Solo

by Khlara



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hand Jobs, Imagination, Masturbation, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:26:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khlara/pseuds/Khlara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was an on again, off again relationship. This time, Tony and Pepper were off.  Tony needs relief while in the office, nothing his over active brain and hand can't solve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flying Solo

It was an on again, off again relationship.

This time, Tony and Pepper were off. As Tony looked at the papers skewed across his desk, he had a feeling they would be off for good this time. He could hardly remember what he had done (and it was always his fault, whether it was true or not) to cause their relationship to go haywire. Whatever it was, it had been bad. Pepper would barely glance in his direction during meetings, in the hallways. He’d even had to fend for himself when he needed hand sanitizer. It was that bad.

He was on a daydreaming break, as he looked over schematics for yet another project. His daydream involved all that he missed. All that was Pepper.

He sighed, as he laid back in his chair, loosened his tie and just thought about her legs. Those long, luscious legs. So smooth, and while other girls tanned, she kept them alabaster white. She wore thigh highs, and he could imagine taking off her heels, reaching up, his fingers skating along her skin, to the top where thigh met hip. His finger would dip and he would slowly roll the nylon off. She would wear a smirk, as if she were curious to see where all this was going.

As if they didn’t know.

He never really paid much attention to her toes, but they were delightful and rarely painted unless she were wearing some peep-toe number. He’d kiss the big one on her right foot and she would giggle.

Tony found himself sliding deeper into his chair, undoing the top three buttons on his dress shirt.

The other nylon would come off and she would be there, sitting on his desk, in a skirt, blouse and jacket. Her hair up in a bun. The very epitome of the old fashioned secretary.

The arc reactor blinked out the equivalent of skipping a few beats.

He would move forward, reach up, undo the pins in her hair, and feel the cascade down his arm as he lightly gripped the back of her head.

There, her tongue would peek out, run along her bottom lip.

"And what can I do for you today, Mr. Stark?" she would whisper. His lips were on hers, and he was kissing her as if he would drink the life from her. Her hands went to his hips, holding on, pulling out his dress shirt….

Tony began to pull out his dress shirt from his pants.

His other hand would wrap around her waist and they would be like that, pressed against each other, fighting to claim the other with their lips.

But he wanted more. So his lips would trail down her neck, hit blouse, and they were fumbling, to get her out of the jacket, the blouse. His tie was gone, the dress shirt half unbuttoned.

Tony found himself undoing the belt, the clasp and zip to his own pants.

Her hands were on his head and his face was buried in the top of her bra, seeking out the flesh, kissing what he could. His hands trailed from her waist, going to a breast, rubbing the nipple into a little peak of heaven, trying to free itself from the lace.

The office phone rang, his arm reach out and slammed the mute button.

Back again, trailing down to her waist, lifting up the skirt, rolling it up to bunch at her hips. Lace, she was all lace, and it was a thin patch that kept him from her skin. He lowered his head and tongued at the fabric. He didn’t need to look up to know that she had used her hands to rest back onto the desk. That her head was dipped back, eyes closed as she moaned. He used a finger to pull back the lace, so his tongue could plunge into her depths.

Tony groaned as he released himself from his pants, taking himself in hand, stroking.

His tongue would plunge, and then lick upwards, circle. She would moan and her hands would be in his hair, her fingers running, grasping. He would suck on that little button and she would moan, louder – and damn if the employees heard. Let them. He would claim her and let the world know.

His hand moved faster now.

The lace was torn away, her skirt hiked to her hips, her blouse in disarray, he pushed her back further onto the desk, climbing up her body. There would be a slight tease against her before he entered her. She would gasp into his ear and cling tight to his shoulders. He bit down hard at that spot, right above her collar bone, near the crook of her neck. He would bite, enter her deep and she would moan even louder, which would spur him on.

His grip was tight and furious now.

He would take her, there on his desk. Half sitting, half resting back, he would fuck her hard, while she clung to him, her hands gripping the back of his head as his teeth buried into her neck. She was wet, always so incredibly wet. So hot…her heat practically burning and tight. Gods so tight.

So tight and wet.

Her breathing would grow shallow, her gasps would become shorter and shorter, almost shrill. She was tight, every part of her body tight and clinging to him. He would press in deep once more and they would come – explode together –

Tony groaned deeply as his hand slowed, pumped twice more and stilled. He slowly opened his eyes and looked down, sighing. With his other hand, he fumbled into a desk drawer, pulled out a handkerchief and began to clean most of himself up. He had just barely put himself back in when the door opened. He looked up, ready to berate whoever had entered…

It was her. Red hair in a bun, black blazer, white blouse, short black skirt.

“Tony, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you – oh your phone’s on mute, again.” She rolled her eyes, and still made an effort not to look at him, “you have that three o’clock meeting with the foreign investors.”

“Give me ten minutes Pep—“

“We don’t have ten—“

He looked up, his eyes narrowed. Pepper could see the predatory gleam in his eyes. She straightened.

“Ten minutes.” His voice was low. For the first time in weeks, they were looking at each other.

“I think I can spare fifteen.” She said as she closed the door behind her.


End file.
